It’s no secret that I’ve fallen for a beautiful man who has continued to show me the kind of love I didn’t believe existed – or if I acknowledged it, that kind of love was for other, more fortunate souls.

Before him, I was stuck in the spirit-depleting online dating world meeting liars, cheats, emotionally vacant men, or men who were afraid of commitment, or simply at different life stages, mismatched with my own.

He’s shown me the kind of love most people dream of in their innermost selves where they long to be accepted for who they are, with no veneer or front worth hiding behind, no pretension of being someone you’re not. The kind of love where declarations are backed up by actions and deeds that speak louder than words.

The kind of earthly, rooted love that carries on soft, downy wings heavenly feelings of connection and belonging and touch. No bullshit, no lies. Just honesty, vulnerability and… fabulous sex!

Yes, it’s time to add a spark of light because this post I’m sharing today is also dark.

A close call with death is about as dark as it gets for a parent, or even for a partner, lover or friend. But especially for a mother with a precious link to a beloved child who almost didn’t make it.

I’ve spent the past week recovering, building new bridges and caring for my child after we both spent a week in my state’s major hospital. He’s extremely lucky to be alive, and I am doubly blessed (what a trigger for Meatloaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light) to have him present in my life, and to have this infinitely valuable second chance to help him recover and go on to lead the life that stretches before him.

But that is his story and today I want to focus on my story.

This is the tale of how my relationship with a man I met on a dating site (Plenty of Fish) has blossomed into something solid and true.

Regular readers will be familiar with my recent journey – meeting him five months ago, when my world changed on the head of a pin. The ready acceptance we both felt that it was the real deal. The fall into divine lust of the kind where you just can’t enough of the feel, the touch, the smell of your beloved. The reveling in skin on skin and the swirling dance of tongues. The glorious touch of his lips on my mouth, and almost every other part of my body.

What followed and grew day by day were the feelings of deep, abiding love for each other, as never before and in a way that heightened our certainty that it was somehow right.

I’ve also shared the minute hairline cracks that appeared where I realised he is, indeed, human. He has flaws, stressors and imperfections. He makes mistakes just like the rest of us. He’s no saint, but he’s the closest I’ve ever been to one.

This is the kind of man I love – a man who put my needs before his own. When he heard what had happened with my son, he moved hell and high water to be by my side within a couple of hours, which was no easy feat in his busy life. It involved complex arrangements by phone calls and a few hours of travel, plus sorting it with his work to take carer’s leave. All so he could give me the kind of support I didn’t even know I needed.

This is the kind of man I love – a man who stayed by my side in the hospital when I was weeping, bedraggled and tear-stained, sitting by my son’s bed waiting for him to regain consciousness. A man who brought me sustenance and held my hand, whose presence next to me spoke louder than any words. Without question, he stayed overnight with me so I wouldn’t have to face this alone. Unlike my son’s father, my beloved was physically and emotionally present, unless it was to run errands across the miles to fetch things we needed and resolve all those awkward and complex needs that arise from leaving your home, by ambulance, in a panic. He walked my dog and fed my other pets. He brought me items to make my stay more comfortable. He held me in the night.

This is the kind of man I love – a man who doesn’t disappear when the going gets tough. He stays with me, keeping in constant touch when we aren’t physically together, but without smothering me. There are no games, no silences, no absences, no lateness or missed plans. He is as reliable as the sunrise and just as beautiful. He listens with full attention and consideration to my fears, my news, my anxieties as well as my hopes and ideas. He reassures me that he’s there for me and he worries on my behalf. He is one hundred per cent fully invested in me and our life together.

This is the kind of man I love – he treats me like a goddess, as the most precious person on the planet, his divine love, but he doesn’t dehumanise me or put me on a pedestal. I don’t have to be perfect in mind, body or soul for him to love and adore me. He strokes me, holds me, cuddles me, kisses me with reverence and with desire. His touches alight my blood, set astir my lust, his fingers on my nipples send me into silent (or noisy) paroxysms of arousal. His tongue in my mouth stirs a long-dormant primal sexuality. His desire to please me surprises me every time he patiently works my body bringing me to climax after climax, to heights never before experienced. He is a man who’s not satisfied until I am satisfied, and who will never give up until I erupt into exhausted giggles when my body really can’t take any more unadulterated pleasure. He’s the kind of man who offers his solidity and height to help me feel safe and protected, something I’ve never had the luxury of feeling in my many decades of adult life.

He’s a genuine strong man, and that’s not to say I won’t allow him to have moments of weakness, or vulnerability or fear. I want a human being, not a superman model. I want a man who’s not afraid to be himself, no disguises and no lies.

He doesn’t have to be perfect – he only needs to be genuine, and a real adult, not a man-child or a Peter Pan or any other variation of unavailable or irresponsible.

I didn’t know what I wanted until I met my beloved, and now that we have connected, I realise how much my life has opened up. I feel blessed, every day, to have the love of this man. I am stronger, happier, better.

And this is as good as it gets.